The Wrong Way to Run Part II
by Anna W
Summary: Anna Willing has still found no peace while she has faced her biggest guilt: the workhouse. Again she finds herself running away and this time, not even the newsies' comforting care, or even Spot Conlon can help her. This part she must face her problems,
1. Default Chapter

PROLOGUE  
  
The world shone a new light on New York when the sun rose every morning. It was a refreshing new day for both rich and poor, for newsboys and lawyers. They would go to their various duties, completing their tasks. Work or play, it was light outside and gaiety could be felt in whatever form. When the day's events ended, there would be some sort of thing to do to keep minds from wandering, but as is always the case, night would fall. With night would come a wandering mind that would sadly reminisce on memories, good or bad. Perhaps food would cross a hungry boys mind. Maybe a lawyer would reflect on a business deal made previously. Possibly, a reporter might worry about his job. Simple worries carry no weight for long though. John Willing's worries were not anywhere near effortless, and carried more burdens then he wished to deal with. John Willing had married young in life. At the age of eighteen, his heart had easily been stolen by the charming styles of Katherine Johnson. Her immense beauty could have been found in no other woman. The green eyes she possessed had trapped him in mystery, while her sweet pale face informed him of her engaging charity. She was kind too and not easily won over by flighty actions and the rash compliments paid to her so often. The many suitors that Katherine Johnson had had in her lifetime would permanently cause John Willing's possession of her as an inevitable happening. He must have the woman, whatever it took. Finally possessing what he most favored took nearly two years. He had first seen Katherine at a party, one his parents threw. She had graced the ballroom with her long elegant green dress, making her eyes shine like emeralds. That is when he fell in love, at the age of eighteen. She was younger by two years, but had the grace and intelligence of an older woman, one with experience. This only made him fall more into love with her. Marrying her was a long process of courting. Two years went by, and he had her at last. Nevertheless, a distraught John Willing began questioning his principles too late in life. He was already dutifully married, he already had two beautiful daughters and he had a very luxurious job. To him it was lavish, but his wife Katherine tended to think otherwise. Putting children in workhouses was wrong, had said,, but had his wife no idea what kind of money was involved in this? Had it never crossed Katherine's mind that perhaps she would be taken care of for the rest of her life because of this job? Who would know how to deal with this? As always, the dependent John went to talk to the most influential person in his life, Mr. Pulitzer, a rich powerful man owning one of the biggest newspapers in New York City. Mr. Pulitzer had always shone the right thing to do before; he would be sure to help now. When John walked into Pulitzer's richly furnished office, full of golden objects and polished wood, he brought up the problem of his doubting and non-supporting wife. Joseph Pulitzer pondered on what John had said. Mr. Willing's wife did not agree with the workhouses, she did not agree with the "new ideas" they had in store for it. This could be detrimental to the entire plan, the thing that he and John had worked on for nearly 3 years. That meant there was only one solution. "Get rid of the problem, John," Mr. Pulitzer had said. "That's all I have to say about that." Nearly five months after that, Mr. Pulitzer read the obituaries in his own paper. What he saw brought a sense of easiness and relief to him. The problem had taken care of itself.  
Part II  
Ch. 1  
  
It lay there, the rage still seething through its thick leather straps, metal balls tingling with the fury as well. Swaying slightly from the new use, the straps shone bright red; the color of broken skin. Its handle was worn, seeing as its owner delighted in using it. There was no point in defying either owner or instrument of torture. What was done was done. I could not resist this truth now. Considering I was still healing from the hour's incident, I could not stand the sight of the mechanism that could cause so much pain in one flick of the wrist. Perhaps the art of it was a mysterious enthralling gift for the owner, but to the perpetrator it only caused a sense of indignant life. When struck with the whip, you wanted to be put out of the misery inflicted; death seemed the only worthy solution. I pressed my face deep into my knees, whispering condolences to myself. I had been foolish. I had gone against orders boldly, an old sense of defiance rising upon my disgusted mind. Only too soon had I been shot down, and it had hurt, intolerably. What had I been thinking? I had seen the many other children become struck. I had witnessed the obscene torture with my own eyes, and kept silent as the others had, too appalled and revolted by the sight to even say a word. No one talked about it after either. They pretended as if it had never happened. Soon I found myself wishing that it never happened as well. When one possesses a distinct trait such as a vivacious imagination, it may seem a gift. When forced to use this "gift" unwillingly, it soon takes on the identity of a curse. My curse was this: my dreams haunted me, no longer of my past, but the image of a child being forced to the ground with an unrelenting whip bearing upon him. What humanity was this? We were animals, no longer fit to be in the human race.  
  
I shook as I thought of this. I would not cry though. The owner would only use his instrument with more force if you cried. The younger children that cried could never learn. "Dey'll leoin, if it kills 'em dey'll leoin!" The gruff voice that passed through my mind caused slight sweat to trickle down off the back of my neck and travel to the newly founded wounds. The burn from it hurt badly, but no tears escaped my eyes. He would be back soon, too soon, willing me to follow his orders. If I followed these orders one more time, I knew I would crack. My strong will and my senses, now turned to a nervous and constant watchfulness, would immediately be thrown away. That alone would kill me. I burrowed myself deeper into the shadows of the crack underneath the rickety old staircase. Perhaps he would not see my aching form, and leave me be. I pulled my knees closer to my chest, hiding completely in the shadows. The stretch on my muscles caused pain to fill me, but I stayed silent. If I made a noise, someone would hear, and as usual, that someone would be the person I least wished to see. The silence caused me to be overly watchful. Not even the younger children upstairs made a noise. Not a whimper was heard, not even a lone whisper. Sometimes they would murmur to each other upstairs, but there had never been a hint of laughter in their voices. These children were zombies. My eyes opened wide, and I scanned the room frightened that at any moment someone would come to retrieve my battered self. Not a soul was in the basement, but typically, wherever I was, they could easily follow. So was the case of my luck. The light footsteps could be heard through the silence in the room. The staircase above me creaked slightly with the weight of a person. Someone was coming down here looking for me. I pushed myself even deeper into the shadows, holding my breath. The basement was dark, thankfully, so even the candle he held could not fight against the perpetual darkness that night had caused. "Where bes', Anna?" I cringed as the forbidding voice traveled through the darkness. At least it wasn't the owner, but just nearly as bad. Kreagle slowly lurked in the darkness, looking around the room. "Anna, I knows ya in heah. Come out. I's been lookn' fer ya everywhere else, an' youse gotta be in heah." I scrunched up tighter, scared to death of the voice echoing in the darkness. Suddenly his form became visible. He was standing right in front of my hiding place. Only a thin piece of wood stood between me and the bulky young man who could inflict more pain than I wanted to deal with. I felt more sweat pour upon me as Kreagle moved things around, slyly looking for me. "Ay, Anna, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Yous knows dat." He wasn't going to hurt me? What kind of moron did he think I was! His pleasure was hurting me, his pride were the scars implanted all over my arms. There was usually no way to escape him, but tonight I was not going to relent to my accustomed passive indulgence to his wants and needs. He would not touch me tonight. He again came close to my hiding spot. I pushed myself against the harsh wooden wall; my breathing came in sharp sudden gasps. I knew he heard my uneven gasps given that he soon attempted to move the sheet of wood in front of me. It was over now. As he completely moved the sheet out of the way and squinted against the darkness, I realized that it wasn't over. I didn't have to succumb to this anymore. Kreagle's eyes, having finally adjusted to the darkness, spotted my bloody, torn figure. "Dere she is," he muttered. I saw a smile adorn his face, one that disgusted me. "Ain't ya gonna come see me, Anna? Doncha want me ta make ya feel bedda? I'm sure dat whip 'urt!" I whimpered and backed further up. "Don't be scared. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He reached in, grabbing my arms roughly pulling me out of my beloved sanctuary. I struggled harshly against his strong arms, but the fatigue of the beating was still blasting through my body. "Ay, calm down! Don't get all excited on me now." I felt like a wild angry beast that had finally gotten free from its cage. I flailed angrily, but his grip was even stronger than before. Only too soon did my strength wear down and I lay practically motionless in his arms, stars in front of my eyes from the forced effort. "Don't touch me," I gasped as he began dragging me further away from comfort. He quieted me, noticing my weak condition and my lack of defiance against his movements. He slowly dragged me further away and stood me up against a wall where I leaned resignedly. That's when he came at me. "Don't touch me!" I screamed again, pushing him away from me. Habitually, this was the point where I was smacked and made to do whatever the present desire of the smacker was. This time was different. I was tired of submitting. I was worn out from the constant strain on my nerves and my will. I wanted out, now. When Kreagle pulled his hand back to deliver the hurtful blow, a sudden burst of energy sprang to me. I kicked him harshly where I knew it would hurt the most and pushed his blubbering self away. When he was sufficiently on the floor, I kicked him again in the stomach. I made sure the third time that I kicked him, it was hard, hard enough so that I saw his eyes water from the pain. "That's for every time you've tried to hurt me!" I whispered harshly, acknowledging his gasping breath. He reached his hand out to grab my leg but I simply kicked it away, this new founded energy causing me to feel some of my old defiance and wit. I glared viciously at him. "Go to hell!" I muttered. I gave a final blow to his face, and he was out cold. After several minutes of being able to open my eyes and see the once dreary and hated world I lived in, in a new light, I soon realized that I was without any supervision. I also realized that today was Tuesday so the owner would be much occupied with his choice drink of the night. I stood in the middle of the basement, dumbfounded for the first time in my life. My quick thinking mind was not working and I cursed it. What was I going to do? Could I actually leave this hellhole? Without another thought, I numbly turned away from everything, holding my head, and swiftly went up the stairs. I knew how to get out, but there were many problems, many things that could go wrong. How in the world I was supposed to do this without being killed in the process seemed impossible. As I came out of the basement and turned several harsh and dark wooden passageways I felt a sense of self worth again. I felt a newly regained composure. I could do this. I was Anna Willing. Silently I attempted to open the front door, but realized halfheartedly it was locked. What was I going to do? I yanked on the door several times, willing it to open, but this would not do. I cursed quietly under my breath, as it remained locked shut. I thought speedily, trying to remember any escape routes, any secret cracks. I stared at the area all around the door. Spot and Jack had come in here somehow. There had to be something secret around here. There had to be someway to escape. I gently kicked several sides of the door, the old rotten wood bending slightly at my touch. Finally, patience beyond me, I kicked my foot through. I kicked several more times, making the hole bigger, big enough to fit me through it. Then I heard his grunt. All the way down in the basement, I heard the grumble of pain and of the awakening of hurting senses. Kreagle was no longer in an unconscious state. The groan caused me to stay still and remain silent. That's all I had ever been able to do when here. It numbed my senses, numbed my sense of worth, and killed every hope in my body. Remembering these horrible unearthly scars, I went through the small splintered hole. "Anna." the whisper was too much to bear. He was coming up the stairs. He was already half the way up. I pushed harshly on the old wood, trying to pull my legs through. Even with this great effort, all I received in return was a pair of bloody hands full of splinters. "Anna, I cin heah ya." I moaned slightly through the fight to get through the hole. My hands were shaking at the unsuccessful attempt. I felt my throat contract and release the tension. I tried to calm myself, but the constant fear I had lived in until this point caused me to shake even more. When I felt hands on my torn pants, I knew that Kreagle was there and that he wouldn't give up this fight. I kicked brutally at him, gritting my teeth at the pain my constrained legs felt when I rubbed them against the rotten, smelling wood. He cried in pain as I made contact with something. With this, my adrenaline rushed suddenly and I yanked myself through the hole, splinters flying as well as blood. I landed in the dirt face down, but lying there would give me no comfort. Kreagle's screams resonated through the air outside. He had been defeated finally. Spitting dirt, I stood up, full of my strenuous and hard earned victory. I rested my limbs, looking around, but there was no time to think. Running didn't require a thought. I heard the front door being unlocked and that's when I sprinted out of the yard, through the broken fence and down an empty street. Running hard, I had no idea where I was going, but the constant fear pushed me on toward a destination that was better than my previous one. Finally, feeling the freedom of the night air, and the relentless pain in my side, I stopped catching my breath. Supposing that my captor would leave me be, I started at a slow walk, calming down enough to realize my surroundings. It was freezing outside. My bare feet, torn pants, and ragged armed shirt were no exception for something warm. I shivered feeling the chill of the fall air. I breeze blew my hair out of my face, making my senses go haywire. It had been months since I had been outside. The hot insides of the factory were the only surroundings I had known for five months. It had been hell, in all seriousness. While slowly looking around at the night sky, full of steam from the surrounding buildings, I viewed the place that I had once lived. The buildings were glorious, the cold night air refreshing, and the all around atmosphere magnificent. I was free. I was out of hell finally. Suddenly, I heard a swift step behind me. At first it was very quiet and at a distance, but as I walked on, it got louder and louder, until I could construe from the heavy pad on the pavement that it was Kreagle's muscular form running behind me. "Anna!" The yell was like fire to a fuse. It ignited my wondering senses into a fearful existence once more, and I was off. Running through the filthy streets of Brooklyn barefoot, caused pain beyond the imagination. Stepping on a piece of glass, I cut my already sensitive feet, but I continued to run, unaffected. "Anna, ya bedda stop. I'll tell Shelton! I'll tell 'im, I swear ta God! An dis time.he'll kill ya!"  
  
An airy sob escaped my mouth as he said these words. If he caught me, I'd die. This propelled me to move faster. He wouldn't catch me. I wouldn't die. I made a promise to myself that I would not die. "He won't kill me!" I whispered. In the distance, I saw the lights of Brooklyn, the Brooklyn where I had lived with Spot and the newsies. I ran to it hard, not knowing whom I was going to turn to when I got there. Would anyone recognize me? Had I changed? I had not looked in a mirror in nearly five months. I was probably a grotesque monster at this point. Another one of Kreagle's yells pulled me roughly away from my insecure thoughts. He was running fast, and I was losing energy. He couldn't catch me. I wanted to live. I ran faster to the lighted burrow of Brooklyn, but somehow Kreagle's steps came closer up behind me. "Anna, ya ain't gonna make it! I gave ya da chance back dere, but its too late fer ya now!" "No!" I yelled back. I now entered the busy part of the burrow, running even faster. Desperately gasping for breath, I turned a corner, not knowing my destination. "Anna!" His screams caused me to wince sickeningly. Again, I took a lead on him down an alley. I intertwined in between many streets and sections, to confuse him, and seemingly, I became so tired that my delirious senses wandered aimlessly through the confusing mess. Finally, I no longer heard the depressing sound of Kreagle's heavy steps. He was lost, for now. Futile as it was, I still managed to wander more towards the lights of Brooklyn. I breathed heavily, trying to keep some energy, but the malnutrition my body was in and the overworked status I had acted every day for five months would not permit it. I looked around remembering the joyful experiences taking place in these very streets. Selling papers in the early morning, eating lunch at the same restaurant everyday with Spot, and taking my famous walks with Jack passed my mind as I came out of an alley. Even though they were joyful, I knew I would not be able to go back, and make it the same. I desperately wanted to reach my hands out and successfully clasp my old, sweet memories in them, but the horrifying workhouse incident shattered the memories to pieces like glass breaking when a ball is thrown at it. My memories crushed before my eyes and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I had to move on and finish the journey I had started. I couldn't turn back now. I shivered, barely being able to keep my eyes open from the fatigue. Where was I going to sleep? What was I going to eat? Who could help me? I shook my head hopelessly. I was in a fix. I had nowhere to go. I didn't even think the newsies could help me. It was too predictable anyway. If I went there, I would easily be found. I grunted slightly as I ran headlong into something. "Ugh!" I yelled as I weakly was rebounded from the hard force I had run into. I looked up my head spinning. "Young man-" "Lady," I muttered rubbing my eyes to clear my foggy vision. A tall middle-aged man stood in front of me. He looked well off, judging by his nice suit and unwrinkled hat and he had the appearance of a man that was quite harsh. I wondered why he still was standing there examining my face so quizzically. Usually, one as high as he was would simply push the poor retch aside and continue. "Pardon me," he replied gruffly. "Young lady, I suggest you watch where you're going. It's not in your best interest to run into stately people such as myself." His stare still spoke bluntness to me, though he also had recognition cross his eyes. I had no idea who he was, so this puzzled my already baffled mind. My acid tongue would have quickly responded as it usually did, if I had not heard the horrifying yell of Kreagle so nearby. I gasped and turned away from my newly offended statesman. "Anna! Yous bedda get outa whereva ya hidin'!" I cursed under my breath. There seemed no way to get out of this. "Excuse me," I whispered quickly to the man, and then attempted to take off again. Only too soon had I been gently caught by my regal friend. "Let me go!" I whispered, horrified. My eyes opened wide, as the man stared deeply into my face. His speckled white mustache twitched slightly. "I can't let you go, young lady. You'll only die sooner." I whimpered as he said this. I was going to die if he didn't let me go. What in the world could he be talking about? He was only going to get me killed sooner. Since my life was at stake, with the little energy I had left, I fought him off. This caused me to see spots in front of my eyes, and my breathing to go out of whack. I gasped, trying to rid myself of his strong, unyielding arms. I heard the clunk clunk of Kreagle's sickening run. He had to let me go! "Don't do this," I gasped nauseatingly. The ground seemed to shake beneath my unstable feet. I treacherously attempted to keep my balance, but through the fight, I felt my legs finally lose their stamina. My body fell, arms still posed in defense. "Calm down," came the gruff whisper from the man, but his urgent commands had no affect on me. I fought roughly still, though the world around me was spinning. My vision was dying fast and every noise seemed to mush together mocking an out of tuned orchestra. "He'll kill me!" I cried. "I can't die! I have things to live for.I want to live!" My random cries made his face stare at me in confusion. Kreagle's clunk could still be heard in the distance and that caused me to pull myself up. When I fell back down immediately, and was quickly caught by the man, I knew, there was no way to escape dying now. He would certainly turn me in. Retched upper class fiends! I could do nothing to prevent this though. My vision blacked out, my head pounding. The earth itself was spinning uncontrollably beneath me. I felt my body become lifeless, and some of the tense pain leave me though of course, all of it could never go away. Dumbfounded and inert, I let the fatigue cloak me, and the hunger push it on. Nevertheless, before I was completely gone, I prayed with all my might, that my life, though revolting and intolerable, would be spared. I was going to finish what I had started. I had to stay alive. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2  
  
"Look at her.over there.refuses to dance.such a trivial thing." The whispers met my ears as I wallowed in self-pride apart from the dancing and gaiety. I would not go over there and dance. It was much too ridiculous. The rich men would simply dance and discard. It was a treacherous pattern that my father quite enjoyed, but I refused to be apart of it. In the distance, I saw Melanie's thin form coated in her beautiful blue satin dress. She was twirling and dancing across the floor with some blonde- haired gentleman. New money, as father said. She met my gaze and I looked away. "Excuse me for interrupting-" "You're not excused." As I said this, I looked slyly into the face of something quite surprising. A young man looked deeply into my eyes. He was very brazen in his manner and very smug as well. Although this was the case, all I could think was 'He is beautiful.' Dark, intense blue eyes stared into mine, a thin smooth lipped smile accompanying it. His mysterious brown hair waved slightly over his velvety forehead. Dimples appeared on his cheeks as he took in what I had said. "Goodness, it takes so much to get a lady's approval here." "You will be lucky if you ever get it," I retorted, coming out of my trance. He smiled, making his navy blue eyes renovate to a shade lighter. Beautiful again. "What does it take to get a ladies approval.I mean.in particular, this lady's approval?" I shrugged, folding my white-gloved hands in my lap. "Well, you could start by introducing yourself and your purpose, if indeed it may be worthy." My words caused him to throw his head back and laugh. "It takes so much to get an introduction! I wonder how much it would take to get a dance." He questioningly stared at me, but I merely smiled and shook my head. "I think you should stick with the introduction. It's more likely than the dance." He shrugged and bowed slightly, not seeming to care. As he bowed in presentation, I looked around the room and noticed several old ladies stares. They were mystified. He came up and stared sweetly into my eyes once again, only causing me to wonder more of the beauty he possessed. "My name is Michael, Michael Priton. I just moved here with my family from Boston. I'm eighteen, and very enthralled by your company." With this, I laughed heartily. "We've only spoken for three minutes, three inspirited minutes full of insults, and already you enjoy my company? Tell me, who paid you to come and speak to me." It would not be surprising if an old lady had slipped some gold in his pocket for several minutes of fun. "I had no idea one had to pay to speak with you." His idiotic comment was not whole-hearted. He was jesting with me, and, for once, it was funny. "Well, Michael Priton, its nice to meet you-" "You never told me your name, so I suppose it's not a proper greeting." I raised an eyebrow, and pursed my lips against his humorous comment. "My name, good sir, is Anna, Anna Willing." This time his eyebrows raised in surprise. "So this is the girl that all of Brooklyn is talking about. I am indeed-" "I'm sure you are interested in the many rumors that Brooklyn seems to spread about me, but I, on the other hand, am not. If you would excuse me." With that, I had stood up and walked away from Michael Priton, my feathers ruffled tremendously. He had in turn said smugly, "This won't be the last time I'll talk to you, Ms. Willing." "Perhaps not, but this certainly will be the last time I speak to you." I suppose he saw the red anger on my face, but he simply bowed shaking his head at my fury. How wrong I had been then. "Michael, eh?" I suddenly jerked myself up, facing someone that I had never before seen in my life. Arms aching at the effort, I frighteningly surveyed the speaker. She was young, with freckles dotting her cheeks, and wild, crazy red hair. She looked younger than I did as well, by three or four years. Having had enough of staring at an unrecognizable maid, my eyes wandered around the room I was located. It was new, nothing I had ever seen before. The bed I slept in was soft, smelling of newly washed sheets, and the pillow beneath my back was heavenly. The walls were a deep red, endowing the room with an almost eerie light. I noticed how it was richly furnished. This was no pauper's home, which made the situation even more mind- boggling. Panicked and fearful at the thought of unfamiliarity, I remained sitting up even through the pain. The young woman analyzed me, her hands planted on her hips with a "know all" regard. Her eyebrows were cocked in disbelief and curtness. She stopped her duties, regarding my nervous manner. "What's wrong witcha?" I turned to her questioningly. She stared back, laughter in her brown eyes. "Where am I?" I asked finally. With that, she cackled. "Is dat what ya worried bout?" Again she laughed, her hands scratching her sweating forehead. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by her sense of self worth. She seemed friendly, but my fear and uneasy feeling of the foreign place I was in, caused me to become impatient. "Where am I?" I asked again, staring seriously toward her. "Ay, calm down, calm down!" she replied shaking her head, her frizzy mess of hair waving along her back. "Yous in Mr. Shatton's 'ouse. Dat's all. Ain't no reason ta go lookin' all angry like dat." With an "hmph" she waited for me to respond. I shook my head. "Who is Mr. Shatton?" I inquired looking around a little more easily. At least I was nowhere dangerous, or fatal, like the workhouse. Even worse, my old home. "Why da hella ya heah if yous ain't knowin' whos saved ya?" I quizzically contemplated what she was saying. Who had saved me from what? I thought back, trying to remember what had happened. I was greeted with several comforting faces like Michael and Spot, but I knew somehow that they had nothing to do with this situation. "Saved me?" Again, I shook my head, coming up with nothing to satisfy my curiosity. "Ah!" she groaned, picking up the tidying chore she had begun when I had woken up. "Mr. Shatton sure enjoys bringin' in da strange ones. Foist ya talk bout some fella' named Michael, an' now ya ain't even knowin' where ya are an' what 'appened ta ya. I bet ya don't even know ya own name!" I lay back onto the pillows, feeling a disagreeable tendency when speaking with her. "I know my own name," I muttered. "Den lets test out ya memory," she countered. "What's ya name?" "Anna," I responded, raising my eyebrow. "Ya could be lyin'," she answered, shrugging. "I don't tink it's a trustworthy name. 'Sides, ya don't look like an Anna ta me. Ya look like ya name could be Colleen or sometin. Sometin foreign." Finally, I felt my annoyance wash away and I laughed. She smiled as well. "Now ya don't look so unfriendly. Maybe its safe fer me ta talk ta ya normally." I nodded and she continued. "Da names Emily. I's guess I cin tell ya dat now." "Nice to meet you, Emily," I said politely, trying to acknowledge kindly my critical maid. "It is nice, ain't it? Nicer den you anyways!" she said laughing slightly. I felt as if I were a five-year-old again, playing silly mind games to manipulate and get what I wanted. Too soon did my defiance and difficultness start afresh. "I'm not unfriendly. I just don't understand how I got here. I don't know anyone by the name of Shatton and I've never seen anything like this before." She finished dusting the counters of everything in the room before she responded. When she had finally finished, she stared at me, her brown eyes attempting to think of a plausible answer. "Truthfully, Anna, (if dat's what ya name is) I ain't understandin' how ya got heah eider. I mean, Mr. Shatton, 'e's a lonely man. Ain't really nuthin social bout 'im. I ain't eva seen ya afore, an' I don't tink Mr. Shatton has eider. Said sometin bout eyes but." All I did was turn my head away from her, again trying to remember the events of before. Vaguely my mind reminisced on running away from the workhouse, a constant fear, and staring into the face of an elderly gentleman that would not permit me to finish my duty. Mr. Shatton had to be that gentleman, but why in the world would he take me here? I had been so sure that he would turn me in. As the girl was opening the door to leave me, I whispered a quick, "Wait!" She turned to me, the perpetual smile gracing her lips. "Wha' is it now?" she asked. I noticed that her accent seemed not to be just of New York. She wasn't of these parts, but was trying to fit in with a fake accent. Nevertheless, I got to the point. "Where is Mr. Shatton? Can I speak with him?" "Ay, Ay!" she said loudly, pushing her hands to slow me down I suppose. She glanced nervously out of the door. "Be patient. It ain't right fer ya ta talk ta him now. When he's ready, den you'll talk. 'Sides, he ain't home durin' da day!" Her animated personality was on the brink of annoyance and on the edge of a smile. I didn't know which one to do. I studied her for several more seconds before she left, trying to decide if I agreed with her traits. Seeing the wild, free hair, the defining freckles, and reading quietly her worried eyes, I knew that even if it was not now, my feelings toward her would be friendly. "Get some sleep, Anna-" she shook her head brusquely. "I ain't likin' Anna too much. I wanna call ya Colleen." "Please don't," I muttered sarcastically, my eyes becoming wide with apprehension. "Ay," she said again in thought. After several moments of this supposed deep, troubling contemplation, she looked at me, her eyes shining mildly. "I know what I's 'll call ya. Yous can be A. C. I don't know which name fits ya bedda yet cuz I ain't knowin' ya too well, but when I gets ta know ya, I'll decide on a name fer ya." I laughed meekly. "How diplomatic of you." She shook her head in my direction. "Sleep," was all she would say, and then closed the door behind her. I looked at the tall clock in the room. It was nearly three o' clock in the afternoon. How long it had been since the escape, I had no idea. I had no idea what was happening to me, or even why I was here in the first place, but the worst part of all this worrying was the fact that I had three hours to wait in a hopeful longing. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Shatton would answer some of these questions and fears for me. With any luck, maybe he would even qualm my apprehensions quickly, perhaps tonight.  
  
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Sleep had not indulged me for hours. I lay on my comfortable bed, the dullness encompassing my body. It was boring doing nothing for hours. My joints ached and I felt a slight sense of hunger but dared not move. Even though I knew no danger surrounded me, I waited expectantly and cautiously for something to happen. Being too weak to cause anything interesting, my waiting continued dismally. Finally, seeing as nothing else held my interest, I took the covers off me, ready to see what exactly I looked like. Thankfully, I noticed how my ratty clothes had been changed, and how most of the dirt and dust that had caked itself onto my legs and arms for months was mostly gone. I was still recognizably dirty, but clean enough to be presentable. The white nightgown I was wearing was plain Linen, but comfortable and fresh smelling. The fresh smells that engulfed everything in the room and on me made me reminisce, hauntingly remembering old times. This nightgown had a slight aroma of Melanie. She had always smelled so sweetly, as if she had lain in flowers while sleeping and bathed in honey. When Melanie had entered a room, her scent would stay there for days, the twinge of perfume in the air causing one to stop. It was inspiration for the sad; it had been a joyful boost for the hopeless. It had wiped the tears of a crying, despairing sister who had desperately wished to silence both sadness and hopelessness.  
  
"Mel, am I a failure?" I was vulnerable, passed on from the viciousness we usually shared. She softly put her cold hand on my shoulder, her eyes bent down in hurt for my pain. "Anna, he says things he doesn't mean. You know him-"I shook my head to silence her. It wasn't her speaking. It was brainwashed words in a passive rehearsed voice. My vulnerability was forgotten. There was no use confiding in her. She quickly closed her mouth. "Mel-" "Anna, you are you. You are beautiful. You are smart. You are my sister." I stared into her eyes, the wetness matching my own. She was trying to sound like it mattered, trying to sound like she could make a difference, but I doubted her then, weakness was apparent in her eyes. "You won't mean that in three months. You wouldn't have meant it three weeks ago." Her eyes contracted in shock. She pulled away. "What is that supposed to mean?" She wasn't angry. She had realized the truth. "Don't act stupid, Melanie. All you do is defend father. You defend him when he says things that aren't true, you defend him when he speaks to me. Then you try to make everything like old times when we're alone. That's not real!" "He knows best." I closed my eyes, not wishing to look at her face. The aroma hit my nostrils, calming me. I had no need to yell at her. I had no need to get angry. There would come a day when she would say those words and again.it would be too late.  
  
I shook my head, wishing immediately to take off the nightgown. I was disgusted with my memory and even more disgusted with the flashback it chose to grace me with. Melanie was gone and I was just as far away from her as I had been before. I saw no point in reconciling, though something told me I wished to see her. My blood was boiling to yell the insults that had been held back this past year and a half. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, but most importantly, I wanted to show her what I had gone through to fix the mistake that her loving father had caused. "You haven't fixed it yet," I reminded myself slowly, trying to calm my boiling nerves and muscles. Every inch of me wanted to transfer the horrendous pain I had experienced onto her weak being. She had been the one always, that had wanted it more than I had. She had always asked why I took the initiative, why I went down the stairs and pushed her out of the way.  
  
Suddenly, below me, I heard the smack of a heavy wooden door closing. I sat up straight in my bed, the dullness washing away. I heard heavy footsteps downstairs. They stopped. I heard a low voice speaking to someone, but it was too muffled to understand the words. Quietly, I decided that the closer I got to the floor, the more audible it would be. I leaned down, off the bed, stretching my muscles to the point of excruciating pain.  
  
I attempted to get out of my bed, noticing that leaning did nothing to the sound quality. As I stood up though, I lost my balance and fell out of my bed. The thump that followed caused the talking downstairs to stop. "Ow," I whispered. I picked myself up slightly, but my head began spinning again. I sat down again on the floor. Seemingly, this was another example of how my body spent more time on the floor than on my feet. I heard urgent commands being made and then the patter of the footsteps on the stairs told me that my presence had been announced. My door was suddenly flung open and Emily stood on the other side, her eyes blazing with worry, her hair frazzled in her crazy rush. "A.C.!" she exclaimed. I rolled my eyes as she came up to me attempting to help me up. "I can do it myself," I mumbled, pushing her hands away. "Good Lord!" she shouted again as I stood on shaky feet and lay on my bed, exhausted. "Would you quit yelling?" Her persistent high-pitched, fake-accented voice was annoying and ear piercing. "Ay! Mr. Shatton hoid ya all da way down stairs. Whatcha doin' fallin' out da bed like dat?" "I was testing my flying skills," I answered out of breath. Her eyes became even wider, her mouth a thin tight line. "Dat was definitely an Anna comment. Yous so mean!" Her face, already covered with red freckles, turned a bright pink. An Irish temper apparently. "Well my name is Anna!" I sat myself up on the bed. "And I want to see Shatton." With that, she put her nose in the air, turning to the side. "Shatton ain't wantin' ta see ya tonight. I'se jist gonna bring ya dinner up heah. 'Sides, you ain't strong enough yet ta go see 'im. Maybe tomorra' or da next day." With that, I fell back, disappointed. I wanted answers badly, and being here all by myself just made me recollect to the point of insanity. I could not sit up here by myself for another hour. On the other hand, Emily's pompous actions annoyed me, especially considering she was an uneducated maid of about thirteen. She easily got under my skin, and my impatience would not tolerate her adolescent qualities. I was on the verge of wanting to kill her within the first day of meeting her. Perhaps, even though it was extremely lonely, I would manage to eat dinner alone, given that the partner of my choice didn't exist. I rolled my eyes and she did the same. The mimic made me grit my teeth. "Ain't seein' why youses important anyway." At this point, I chose not to respond to her childlike manner of making fun of me. I simply turned away from her on the bed, putting the pillow over my head. She in turn stomped out of the room. Vaguely I saw a tiny freckled tongue stick out of her mouth as she left. Why was a cursed with such a trivial thing that was driving me up the wall? Emily was in all forms, the little sister that I was glad I never had.  
  
When I sat up, my eyes scanning the room hazily from the annoyance and anger I possessed, I suddenly noticed something about it that I hadn't before. I squinted to make sure I was seeing it right, but there was no change of scene. It was as clear as crystal. All around the room, on the table and on the chairs were books with blue covers. They were new, polished blue covers, shadowing many pages of white unwritten paper. There were about ten in the room, but the familiarity was impossible to ignore. They were the exact twins of the diary I possessed except for one thing: their locks were not secured. I covered my mouth, my hand shaking. I felt so cold all alone in that room and so stupid. I could not see the connection. I didn't know how to see it. This was a clue, there was something here I had to find out. There was something here connecting me to Mother.  
  
The door opened and Emily angrily brought in a tray for me. On it was some meat, cheese, and hot bread. I stared at it my mouth watering. The workhouses had made me forget how wonderful food smelled. I ravenously ate it all. I noticed Emily's confused and unraveled stare. She handed me a napkin to wipe off the mess. "Aintcha got manners?" she asked. "Not when I'm starving," I replied. "When'd ya eat last?" I shrugged. She questioningly glanced at me again. "Dat ain't right. Where in da woild did ya come from? I ain't eva seen someone eat like dat in a long." My angry stare caused her to stop talking. "Why don't you stop asking questions that don't concern you. Let me ask you one instead." Again, I felt the discord between us. She angrily huffed at me, though still allowing the question. "Why are all those blue diaries in here?" I asked hesitantly, feeling my throat tightening up. With that, her frazzled furious look transformed to a look of engaging humor. She laughed. "What?" I asked, seeing nothing funny enough to laugh at. "Dat ain't none o' yer business," she replied, putting her hands on hips, an attitude mildly apparent on her face. I snorted, again tired of her company. She was trying to make me feel inferior and uncomfortable, but that was not easily done. Not even Melanie had succeeded, and considering my sister had been quite a worthy opponent, Emily would not hold a match to her. "I'm done with my dinner," I said callously after several minutes of pondering on the past. She shook her head and contemptuously grabbed the tray on my lap. "I guess I'll bes seein' ya tamorra." I raised my eyebrows as Emily stood in the doorway. Still she looked angered and unlikable, but there was something funny about her. I found myself smirking. "Maybe yous be nicer tamorra!" With that, she swung her hair, head roughly turned away, and left me alone in my room to do what not with the dreariness surrounding me. Since my options were few, I decided to take the one that used the less thought. Sleeping was easily achieved that night. Tired from the effort and from the distressing things all around me, I put my head on the fluffy, soft pillow and soon found myself surrounded by a constant blackness that weaved in and out of areas in my mind that had not yet been touched. 


	3. Authors Note

A/N: Guess what you guys!!!!! GREAT NEWS! I've started on chapter three! Yes..thank god...inspiration hit me! BAM! Lol..it should be up soon enough, well thanks to my reviewers! Ya'll are awesome..the best! Lol! Inspiration took forever to hit but thank god! Well I just wanted to update y'all on it cuz y'all have been soooooo awesome!  
  
-Anna W. 


	4. Ch 3 a

Ch. 3  
  
I stared at Melanie as she stood in the middle of the road, talking to the blonde haired young man. She looked displeased and abnormally uncomfortable. She turned to me for some distraction, but I simply raised my eyebrow, the look plainly reading, tough luck. "Do you know that girl over there very well?" I had looked up, surprised by the interruption, but when I noticed who had made it my surprise turned to distaste. I turned around in the street, facing Michael Priton. The wind blew his hair slightly over his eyes. It had been a beautiful day. "What are you doing here?" When I had asked that, he had smirked at me, his eyes glowing brightly in the hot noon sun. "I was just about to ask you the same question. I had no idea your father let a wild animal like you out of the house." I raised my eyebrows and frowned. He laughed as I did this. "Goodness, Ms. Willing, you look at me as if I am insane." "Am I wrong?" I asked coldly. He shook his head. I turned away from him annoyed and angry with the company I had acquired and started walking across the street. My dress annoyed me so I kicked at it, only succeeding in getting the end dirty. I heard Michael's laugh from across the way. He walked over to me again. "Why are you here?" I asked furious that there was no way to escape this encounter. "Answer my question first. Do you know that girl over there talking to Jim Hindly?" I laughed at him. "Why in the world would it matter? Her business is not mine whether or not I know her." His face suddenly turned to a dull seriousness, though his eyes still shone brightly. "If you do know her, Ms. Willing, then maybe you should tell her that Jim Hindly has a drinking problem, to put it lightly, and that he is not a safe man to court her." Staring wildly, I pondered many things about Michael, but the only one that came out of my mouth was: "She's used to it." Michael closed his eyes as I said this. He cocked his head to the side, trying to take in what I had said. There was no way possible that he hadn't understood it. "Anna." When I realized what sick, ugly hate-filled words had come out of my mouth, I closed it, horror struck. I stared at Michael, my eyes wide. "I didn't talk to you and you didn't talk to me," was all I could think to say. I started to walk away, calling softly: "Melanie! It's getting late!" She turned, thanking me with her gaze. I shrugged. I had felt a hand grasp mine and again looked deeply into those unfathomable, beautiful eyes. We stood there, watching each other. "You don't have to walk away." His voice was quiet and sweet. At first, my impulse was to walk away, but his eyes kept me planted. When I had stood there long enough, I realized his words had touched me. They had touched me enough to respond, "Next time I won't." He let go. I smiled slightly at him, unsure of what had just happened, but he smirked knowingly. Melanie and I left the street traveling back to our house our afternoon walk not completely terrible.  
  
"Emily?" I asked as she proceeded to dust silently. She had not talked to me in three days, still furious and obstinate from the heated discussion we had had previously. This caused me to spend these three days solitary and dull. What I wouldn't give to take one step out of this room and swallow some fresh air. "Wha is it, A.C.?" I stared at her again, willing calm and considerate words out of my mouth. "I was just wondering about Mr. Shatton. What about today, Emily?" She turned her head, ruffled again for some reason. "He ain't said nuttin yet." It was so curt, and I was close to losing my temper, but I held it back. "Will you go ask him?" She shrugged not responding. I rolled my eyes. This was so childish and rash. Why me? I groaned for the fiftieth time that day.  
  
"Emily?" I said louder, trying to obtain her distracted attention. She again would say nothing. "Emily!" I yelled. She turned on me then and threw down her duster. Her eyes were wide and she was seething with rage. I raised my eyebrows. "Ya coulda at least apologized!" After the angry outburst, we both stared at each other, my face portraying the confusion I felt, hers still engulfed in fury. "What?" I asked. An apology? Why would she want that? It had been a silly fight and it would resolve itself. "Doncha have any manners?" she asked exasperated. "I guess not," I replied smugly. "Well," she said, unaware of the sarcasm, "When ya say sometin mean ta someone, ya apologize. Ain't nice what ya said!" I laughed when she said this. Apologize to her when she had been just as insulting? I didn't think so.  
  
"Why do I need to apologize to you? People say ugly things all the time and don't apologize." She put her hands on her hips, still angry. "Well, good people don't do dat!"  
  
Her indignant voice filled the room, also filling my mind with questions and pondering thoughts. Her one statement had broken through to me the fact I had forgotten long ago. I was not a good person. Wasn't that fact the reason I had done all this up to this point? Wasn't this fact the reason that I had gone to the workhouse, that I considered changing my lifestyle? I had gone through so much to change myself, only to be halted with Emily's words of simple courtesy. Perhaps something small was the first step. Perhaps with a small change, other things would happen as well. I looked at Emily too resentful at first to say anything of apology. She in turn stared expectantly. I didn't know what to say to her. "I'm sorry." was it enough? "I'm sorry.for offending you." I said unevenly. Suddenly, she shook her head, a smile appearing on her face, one that had not occupied her lips for several days now. I smiled too, raising my eyebrows at the strangeness of it. "Dat's bedda. Dat's all ya needed ta do." I laughed, and as she turned to her dusting, I saw her body vibrate in a giggle as well. "I guess I'm not as horrible as you thought I was," I mentioned standing up and clearing off the table that she had to dust next.  
  
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"Mr. Shatton wants ta see ya." I shockingly jumped when Emily's voice traveled through the room, slamming down the diary in my hand. She furrowed her thin eyebrows, confused and appalled by my behavior. This of course was not a first. I was slightly annoyed at the fact that she had interrupted my snooping, and had also seen me doing it. However, when I replayed what she said in my mind, I decided to forgo the anger and to go see Shatton, as I had desperately wanted to for the past week. "Shatton wants to see me?" I asked, finally regaining the breath that had suddenly been sucked out of me from surprise. She nodded, still slightly confused. I started walking to the door, but was stopped by Emily.  
  
"Doncha wanna get dressed?" she asked, giggling slightly as I remembered the nightgown apparel I was sporting. I rolled my eyes, nodding.  
  
"Do you have anything for me to wear?" I inquired, looking around the room. With some quick digging through drawers and a couple of angry shouts for me to come see, she found a blue dress that was tight on me, but still fit well enough for now. "Suck in!" she yelled at me as she began buttoning the dress up the back. "I am!" I yelled back, taking in even more breath. Finally, after the fiasco of moving and the dress almost ripping, and Emily informing me the well known fact of how absolutely "terrible" my hair was, I was ready to go and meet my patron, Mr. Shatton. Emily began cleaning up the mess of clothes as she gave me directions to Mr. Shatton's study. Just as I was about to go she smiled slightly at me, "Even dough ya hair is terrible, ya still clean up well." I sighed, rolling my eyes and closed the door as I left.  
  
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hey yall! The second part to this chapter will be up later today! Enjoy and thanx for bein soooo awesome!  
  
Anna 


	5. Ch 3b

It was dark in the room that Emily had directed me to go into. As I opened the door, my eyes had to adjust to the immediate gloom that greeted them. I closed the door, scrutinizing the room I had just entered. There were several velvet-covered chairs sparsely spread around it, and a fire was burning dully in a marble hearth. There were many windows as well that had been curtained from the outside world. It was a closed off room, and it looked, by the darkness and the silence that it would stay that way for a while. "Anna.or A.C.?" I abruptly turned to the place where the noise had come from. Scanning through the semi-darkness, I saw a shadowed figure sitting in one of the velvet chairs. "Excuse me?" I asked, realizing how close I was to the chair, and promptly taking a step back. The figure stood up, his impeccable posture, and army like stance, towering over me. Finally, through the darkness, I was able to see my patron clearly. He was tall, but not monstrously so. He was lean as well, looking satisfactorily exercised for his age, just as my father did. Also like my father was the mustache he possessed. It was a dark brown speckled slightly with the gray and white of many long years. He looked about fifty as well, my father's age. As I stared at this man that had saved my life, I felt myself reminiscing slightly about a question Melanie had asked father once when we had been younger, innocent. "Daddy, why are you so much older than Mr. Capton, when Gracie and I are the same age?" Gracie Capton had been a daughter of one of my father's business partners and a playmate of Melanie's. I remembered how father had stared at her, shocked into silence for a few moments. He appeared to be contemplating on what to say. His mouth almost opened, willing something out that might have shocked us, but finally he had said,  
  
"Your mother and I waited eight years to have Anna. We were both older parents, Melanie."  
  
"I was simply inquiring which name you would like to be called. It is not a very difficult question, now is it?" I started again as the harsh voice wrang through the air. His impending nature was edgy and startling, but still, there was something likable to it. He looked like a man that could "get things done"; make changes if he needed to. "I go by Anna," I answered, watching him walk to the fireplace. He lit a match and threw it into the fire, the heat gracing the room as well as the bright light the flame caused. He started pacing in front of the fire, his slow movements showing deep contemplation. His long legs leisurely dragged away from the rug and were just as leisurely placed back on. I found myself fixated with his movements. They were so practiced, so precise. As if he had walked this route every day for his entire life. "Do you daydream often?" His questions were random, and to me seemed pointless. I could not see how my wandering mind made a difference to him. It rarely made a difference to me. Nevertheless, I answered. "Not really daydream, sir." My manners were a first and very shocking to me. The "sir" I used had been a thoughtless add in. "Then what would you call your engrossed eyes staring at nothing? They become very wide, round and lifeless. Is that not daydreaming?" I shrugged, looking around the room. "I was just thinking. Doesn't everybody?" He stopped pacing, turning his head slowly towards mine. Our eyes met and his face turned from a cold since of resolution to a shocked stare. Again he commenced pacing, seeming more thwarted than I first saw him. "So, Anna," he said, accentuating my name to the point of almost dislike. "I have several questions for you to answer." "I have several questions for you to answer as well, Mr. Shatton," I replied, using the same emphasis on his name that he had used on mine. "But I go first," he replied, smiling slightly. One finger was poised in the air as he said this, giving him an almost regal sense. It was all very interesting, so I nodded, permitting his terms. "Now, I give myself reason to wonder," he started, pacing back and forth again, "Why in the world a girl your age takes to running on the streets that late at night." "And I wonder too," I replied, "At why one so prominent as yourself was walking the streets so late at night as well." Surprisingly, he smiled. He pulled his hands behind his back and looked at me once more. His eyes studied my figure, my messy hair and then, once again they met my eyes. He turned away. "Ms. Anna does not miss a clue, does she?" "I do not," I replied. "Not when my life is involved." "Very intelligent," he muttered, "But back to my question though. What were you doing on the streets that night?" Something in his stance, in the way he twitched his mustache, made me feel as if I had to tell the truth, completely and fully. I felt trustfulness in his presence and a very secretive air that matched my own; however, I decided to be vague. "I was running away." At this, he bent down and stirred the fire, pondering upon what I had said. I pondered too, feeling no more clarification than I had started with. Finally, he looked toward me. "Anna, let me tell you a story," he muttered. "Take a seat." I did as I was told, seating myself in one of the velvet chairs as far away from Mr. Shatton as possible. I was frightened by his story, for his face plainly reflected pain and internal struggle. This was not going to be a happy tale. "You say you were running away," he whispered, no longer pacing backwards and forwards. He remained completely still. "You say it so easily, as if it is nothing. You say running away as if everyone does so. There was another sixteen-year-old girl like yourself. Pretty, smart, educated. She could have done a lot with her life. She was only running away. Only running away." He paused looking up at the ceiling. I noticed how hard set his mouth was, and how his eyes glistened with a hurt and abused emotion. I had no idea what to think of all he said. I had no idea where he was going. One thing I did know was that this Mr. Shatton was slowly becoming revealed to me. Maybe in time, he would divulge himself completely, showing me truth and leading me in the right light. Maybe not. "The poor girl didn't know what she wanted, so she ran. Instead of staying and trying to solve things, she ran." Again, he paused, staring now at the ground. His eyes slowly turned to me, hardened slightly from their soft, sad state. I stared back at him. Apparently, this sixteen-year-old girl was indeed dear to him. I felt slightly flustered and uncomfortable, hearing this tale of sadness. It seemed that I should be attaining some hint from this, I should be referring it to my life, but all I could see was my patron's long drawn face and the boatload of memories that caused it. This had nothing to do with me even though he was trying to make a comparison. It was now too obvious to reject. "That blue dress fit her well," he said, after several moments. I looked at my outfit, no longer feeling the stiffness in the material. I studied how old it seemed, the style and the faded blue giving away the age. "She wore it often, but.when she went, she left it behind. It fits you as well I see." He continued his stop/start process, making me want to yell at him to continue. Only too soon did he say something that struck me as relative: "She had never fit in here, you know. Even later in her life. There was no way for her to escape the inevitable. She had made too many wrong choices. I told her to leave well enough alone, but she thought she was in love. I told her to stay away from people like that, but she went anyway. Perhaps." he trailed off, not finishing the statement. I continued to say nothing, knowing there was more to come. This girl he described intrigued me; however, she seemed to repel me a well. I wanted to know of her, yet I wanted to stay far away, realizing that she was too close to the edge for me to tread on her subject. My feelings baffled me, and luckily were interrupted by Shatton's continued story: "I suppose," he began again, after another several moments of silence, the fire crackling in the background, "That I ran on too long of this poor girl so like yourself. Besides, sadly enough, the moral of this story is, after ten years of the girls running, she ran the wrong way." Running for ten years? Mr. Shatton's words suddenly became not as literal. He wasn't plainly describing a running scene. This was emotional. This was a situation that had lasted for ten years of this girl's life. How horrific to live ten years, "running away". "Ms. Anna, I do believe you are running the wrong way as well." Finally, I felt the need to speak up to this. I felt the defiance rise in me, replacing the sorrow I felt for the girl previously. "How do you know that I am running in the wrong direction if you don't even know what I'm running from?" My question caused a silence in the room. My harsh voice rang throughout the air, making me regret my tone. I sounded unfeeling and cruel. But truly, he had no idea of what he was speaking of. He didn't know me well, he had never seen me before. "I have an idea of what this mysterious force is that you're running from, and I have another feeling that this is not the first time you have run," he said, taking a seat in another velvet chair. "Really," I replied. "Well I suppose your feelings are interesting, but they truly don't give you any right to insult my reasoning and compare it to the other girl you know!" He ignored my comments. "Knowing this, I must say that it only suits you to be running away from a workhouse." I closed my mouth stunned. How perfectly he had struck the truth of it all. How frightening it was to hear the truth come out of a complete stranger. "And," he continued again, "I also know that you did not start your life on the streets. You are much too intelligent to have grown up as a mere street urchin. Though you display a good amount of dirt and grit, you have grown up nobly, and just so nobly have you run away from that as well." My shock was plainly clear on my face. I could not even try to hide it. This man knew me, knew me more than I thought. How did he know me? From where? I had never seen this man before in my life? I had no connections to him. Then I thought of the diaries and I paused, my eyes becoming wider. Still, he continued, "And I must say, Ms. Anna, that seeing your circumstances, seeing all that you've run away from, I can already see the wrong direction you have chosen. You are already dead while standing." I stood up as he said this. I felt compelled to leave; I felt compelled to run. The word "dead" struck a very harsh chord in my body, making my muscles tense "I'm tired," I muttered, turning toward the open door behind me. Not caring for my comforts, his voice again rang out: "Ms. Anna, how does it feel to not know the world you are living in? To make all the wrong choices at once?" I turned toward him, squinting in disbelief and anger. I had not made the wrong decisions. I knew the world I was living in. I could see the future clearly! I had done the right thing! It had been so sure, so unmistakable that I had done it. I had chosen the right path. I had been so sure of everything.  
  
Now my worlds just seemed to crash down with his words.  
  
"How does it feel," he whispered, staring just as harshly back, "To have your whole world turned upside down right when you thought you knew everything about it? Does the future scare you, Ms. Anna?" I backed up still staring at him. He was scaring me. His frightening sense of knowing and intelligence of my past was mind-baffling, but even worse was he seemed to read my deepest thoughts. The ones that not even I chose to recognize. I did fear the future. I did hate my past and would continue running from it as long as I could. "Ms. Anna," he said once more as I began to walk horrified out of the room. "Don't follow in footsteps that will only lead you to further destruction."  
  
I walked out the door, somehow knowing exactly what he was talking about. 


	6. Ch 6

Okay guys! Yes I know its only a flashback, but that's all I have! More will come soon when I sort out my plot! For now, read, enjoy and review, or something along those lines…  
  
Anna  
  
Ch. 4  
  
Yet another worthless party to attend and yet another fiend to repulse. How tiring it was to be disagreeable and angry throughout the night.  
I found that an hour after I had entered the Priton's beautiful marble manor, my father had yet again found another suitor with which he would attempt to destroy my perseverance and single hood. I had hoped he was accustomed to failing at this point.  
Surprisingly, as I looked around, from the dull conversation my present partner had started, I saw Michael Priton nowhere. It was his party after all, and when my father threw his flippant parties, I was always there to greet. It puzzled me why he would not be standing out front with his parents…  
Melanie accusingly stared at me, as the young man proceeded to talk to me even more rapidly. Melanie knew me too well. She knew how I was not even answering the pointless questions he threw at me, nor was I adhering to any compliments he dare give me about my dark pink attire of the night.  
When Melanie had caught my eye, and seen my disagreeable look, she had scornfully mouthed for me to behave. I did not even try to stifle my laugh. The young man stared at me, surprised and dismayed at my easily distracted attention.  
"I did not realize that I was boring you," he said, a hurt-filled voice ringing in my ears, attempting to make me a solace of regret.  
I simply sneered.  
"Well now you have. Excuse me."  
With that, I left the gentleman staring dumbfounded at me. I shrugged and continued walking, ignoring Melanie's sharp cry, and my father's most likely furious look. I continued walking until I found myself quite lost. I traveled down several corridors of the house, looking through oddly interesting pictures, and beautiful sculptures. Finally, I saw through a darkened hallway I found myself standing in, a room with a light bursting through into the hall. I quickly walked into it, finding myself comfortingly warn and relaxed upon entering. It looked to be some sort of library. I curiously paced across several shelves of books, reading dusty titles, all the while the firelight reflecting upon them.  
I wondered briefly, who used this library. If anyone had read all the books, it possessed. How lovely it would be to read all day and all night. To escape from all you knew…  
A stir behind me made me jump. I felt someone grasp my arm, saying gruffly,  
"What are you doing back here?"  
The hand forcefully turned me around, and I recognized immediately the face of an angry Michael Priton. He stared at me for a moment, his grasp becoming tighter on my arm, then his face softened, his blue eyes no longer plagued with anger.  
"Why, Ms. Willing, how clever of you to have found me in my peace. I did not know you would be here tonight."  
I supposed I held a shocked face at being grasped so, but he addressed me cordially, in quite an odd manner at that. He let go of my arm, backing up momentarily and staring at my appearance. His gaze started from my long pink gown all the way to my eyes. He smiled at seeing them.  
"So," I declared, breaking through the silence, "Do you always handle your guests so harshly, or am I a special cause?"  
He laughed slightly, countering me with, "Do you always wander through people's houses uninvited and disturb them?"  
I smiled. "Not always. I only disturb people I deem worthy."  
"Well, I should indeed take it as a compliment then."  
I realized then through these short sentences we had exchanged, how much I truly liked him. He was enjoyable to be around, had a beautiful face, and seemed to enjoy me as well. It was only too perfect.  
We exchanged several other snide and clever comments back and forth, until finally he offered me his arm and we proceeded into the party, where happy laughing could be heard everywhere.  
Michael proposed to dance with me, wishing to see, if at all I could. I replied affirmatively to the challenge, but before I could take him up on it, I saw the young man that had previously been attempting horrid conversation tap Michael on the shoulder callously. Michael turned toward him saying,  
"Yes?"  
The man furiously demanded that he dance with me, as I had promised him I would. Michael didn't even look to confirm with my horrified face. He simply replied,  
"Well, I suppose you can wait until the next dance. I am presently dancing with Ms. Willing."  
The young man had argued with Michael fervently, his face turning a bright red as opposed to Michael's calm and pale face. Michael continued to refuse to give it up. All the while not an eye was laid upon the three of us, that is, until, the young man punched Michael squarely in the nose.  
Several screams erupted around the room and a woman rushed over to Michael, young and beautifully clad in green. She embraced him, as he held his nose, and she turned to me with a furious face.  
"Your Anna Willing, aren't you?" she asked through gritted teeth. Too shocked to answer, I nodded instead.  
"I'm Michael's sister, and I've had enough of watching this. You stay away from him! Your ruining him as badly as you've ruined yourself and I won't have it!"  
  
I only stood there dumbfounded being consumed in the commotion… 


End file.
